


Where It was Buried? beneath you? in the space between your skin?

by OtterFae



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abigail Hobbs Lives, Abigail is will's daughter, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beverly Katz Lives, Beverly Katz is an undertaker, Canon-Typical Violence, Catholic Guilt, Catholic School, M/M, Medical History, Minor Will Graham/Margot Verger, Multi, My First Fanfic, We think, Will in da edwardian era, boy howdy, for now, grave robbing, i'm catholic in case you cant tell, or i used to be, this is gonna be a slow burn baby, what will he do
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:41:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27744643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtterFae/pseuds/OtterFae
Summary: You'll note the self indulgence in this- Writing historical just makes me go brrrrr
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's a little short, this first chapter. I was just itching to get it out, so, yeah. Expect the next chapter pretty soon, like, next week.

It was chance, really, for him to be held responsible for his charge. That frail thing named Abigail, when last he'd seen her she'd been a sickly little flower of eleven years. Will liked to think it a mercy, he never quite knew how to speak to her. she seemed to hold no interest for those things which had captivated him. She hadn't the constitution for hiking or fishing, nor the patience or ability for music. But there really wasn't much use in worrying about the tastes of the Abigail he'd known four years ago. All he could do was wait at the platform for his daughter to get off the train. The steam engine pulled into the station before long, releasing its swarm of travelers. 

And there she was, looking quite ghostly, Dark hair and snowy skin on a cream-colored lace frock, a healthful blush to her face. Nevertheless, something about her chilled him, as he looked on her, as she walked to him, tiny heels clicking on cobble-  
"Father." She said, a quiet acknowledgement of their relation. He pushed his glasses up his nose. 

"Will is fine. You know that, Abigail."

She dissected him with her eyes, blue like winter ice, such ancient things in her head, to chill her gaze so-

"I wondered if that had changed. It has been five years, William." She put her luggage forward, expecting him to take it. which he did.


	2. Errands.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Beverley is introduced, and Abigail makes a much needed friend.  
> Will is confused by women.  
> Lecter is Up To Something, as is to be expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for weird length. Still getting into the groove of writing. Please, if you've any tips, comments, concerns, I'll take literally anything I can get.

They sat opposite each other in the carriage cab, And Will tried to avoid her eyes. He felt her looking at him, all the same, but looking back at her would be so much worse. 

That was the other thing he hated about Abigail. She knew things, she saw things. It was his own fault, really, she got it from him after all. Everyone knows that their own medicine has the most bitter flavour. 

“Are we going to the Cabin, Will?”

It was the first time either of them had said something since the train station. Will didn’t mind. Abigail minded, but she was too mild mannered to say anything about it. 

“No. I’ve some business in the city. But I promise we’ll take some time for nature.”

“Nature is good.”

More silence. That thick silence, like cold molasses, bitter and dark.

“Yes. Nature is good.”

He turned back to looking out the window. But Abigail wasn’t quite done with him yet. 

“What kind of work? Can I come with you? 

He sighed. 

“I don’t see why not. You remember Beverley, yes?”

She shook her head no. 

“Well, she remembers you. She’s been asking about you. Wanted to see you.”

“Then I guess it’s good someone cares.”

He chose to ignore that remark. Chose to ignore most of the rest of the carriage ride, in fact. 

  
  
  


Beverley was a stately, strong looking woman, dressed in a demure charcoal grey. She had the tired eyes of a working woman, and the soft hands of an individual with class and status. She was, as it stood, the sole proprietor of Katz Funerary Services. Also, Will Graham’s key to cadavers of interest. 

“Graham! It’s been far too long!” Beverley beamed, and Will realized he did not know how he got into her office. He did not know how he came to be holding Abigail’s hand. “And Shame on you, by the way for not bringing your little girl around sooner, she’s almost grown and I haven’t seen her since she was knee high.”

Abigail giggled.

Will’s face felt hot. 

“I’m here for business, Katz. We can make small talk sometime else.” He shifted his weight, uncomfortable. 

Beverley rolled her eyes. 

“Right, because talking about death is so much better than catching up. You can’t just show up after months and expect me to leave you be. I am a lady, after all, I don’t want my whole life to be corpses and casket pricing.” She sits at her desk. “You want to know about the resurrection men, right?”

He scoffed. “They’re Graverobbers. Don’t give people fancy names for dishonouring the sanctity of death.”

“Well-” Beverley interjected- “I don’t think this guy cares. At first he’d stitch them up nice before returning them, but now he just… leaves them all cut up. If I thought this was just some Medical student trying to get some extra practice, I wouldn’t have sent for you. Cops can take care of those guys. But I think this is your man, Will. I think it’s the Ripper.”

“I think I need to see the body.”


	3. Teatime.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Beverley and Abigail have tea, Dr. Lecter admires some artwork, and Will catches a trail. (Maybe some feelings, too.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new year new... fuck...

"You should be a bit more charitable to him. He's just not used to sharing his life with people." Beverly said, pouring tea into perfect little cups, in contrast with the dark tone of her furnishings. Nothing in being a mortician requires morbid taste, but it just seemed to captivate her- wax models of injury and disease, bones, preserved glass slides, even songbirds preserved in cloudy jars decorated her parlor. Abigail didn't particularly enjoy all of this. She'd never liked dead things. Even in hunting, she never liked to see the final result. And she was sad, about the bird. 

"Please. You saw how quick he was to drop me with you." Hands almost the same color as the porcelain danced onto the handle of the teacup, bringing it to chapped pink lips. she blew on her tea before sipping, a holdover from childhood and too many burnt tongues. Beverley pushed a small plate of misshapen shortbread cookies onto the center of the small table. He had been rather curt with it- one would think a man of standing would have some manners beat into him by a governess at some age, but apparently, that part of growing up had missed Will entirely. "He didn't even look to me when he left. just turned and went."

"He'll warm up to you again. I'm sure. Wish you could remember him like he was when you were young. Will's gotten to be a bit of a grumpy old man, and you must forgive him that. Will Graham, if none else, has earned his contempt."

The Morgue was a proper thing, not like the dingy holes with greasy candlelight where Will had cut his teeth in the States. Although as a student, it would have been hard to find a hospital half as clean as this small room, stinking of death and gaslights. When he was a boy, he never understood why medicine was such a shameful profession. but actually seeing those horrible places, with men wearing bloodied aprons from patient to patient- God, no true gentleman could stand it. And he wasn't alone here. Not in a spiritual way, although God only knew what specters lurked these halls; (he crossed his heart at the thought-) But another man. Tall, in a well fitting Suit, examining the corpse splayed out on the table. The body was mutilated in such a way that great parts of him hung off of the slab, wings of putrefying flesh like velvety curtains. Will cleared his throat to talk, but found that the stranger was already turning to greet him. A hand smeared with unthinkable things extended towards him, and an accented voice broke out. 

"You must be the investigator." Will shirked away from the filthy hand, and the man, a doctor, no doubt, remembered where exactly he was, and wiped it on his apron. "Pardon me for that, I find that I spend too much time down here and loose my head, so to speak." He smiled. A big, warm smile. Will, for one, was unsettled. He took the man's hand and shook. 

"Will Graham."

"Hannibal Lecter. Pleased to meet you."


End file.
